Life After Life
By Kate Atkinson
By Kate Atkinson
Published by Reagan Arthur Books and distributed by
Hachette, 2013
Purchased and read on Amazon Kindle
Rating: Four
Stars (out of five)
The first Kate Atkinson novel I ever read was Human Croquet (1997). I checked it out from the library at my
undergrad with no idea what it was going to be about (it was a hardcover with a
plain red cover; my undergrad took off the dust jackets) because I liked the
title. I loved the book and sought out
more Atkinson. I haven’t yet read A God in Ruins (the companion volume to Life After Life) or Started Early, Took My Dog (the last Jackson Brody), but I’ve read
all her others, with Emotionally Weird (2000)
as my favorite.
I mention this because readers primarily familiar with
Atkinson’s Jackson Brody novels might find Life
after Life to be a departure for Atkinson, while to me it seems like a
return to her previous topics and style.
Life After Life tells the
story of Ursula Todd, who is born on a snowy night in 1910. She dies at birth, but the novel immediately
takes us to a different version of the story in which Ursula survives… for
awhile. Essentially, we get different
versions of Ursula’s life, spanning the years from 1910 to 1967 with a
particular focus on the various ways in which Ursula might live out World War
II. In one version, she marries a German
man and mingles with Eva Braun; in another, she’s an air raid warden in
London. There are others, too, and in
the various versions of her life Ursula lives anywhere from a few minutes to fifty-seven
years.
Both Human Croquet and
Emotionally Weird explore the
possibilities for different outcomes based on minor differences in events, and Life After Life follows this
pattern. Unlike the previous two novels,
however, it does so overtly. Also,
Ursula’s repeated rebirths are part of the events of the story. That is, she sometimes makes decisions based
on a feeling that she’s lived this particular life before, and at a couple of
points she sees a psychiatrist for episodes of what she calls déjà vu.
We’re definitely supposed to believe that Ursula is reborn; it’s not just an academic exercise of telling the same
story over and over with different endings.
For the most part, I really enjoyed this book. I always enjoy Atkinson’s writing; she has a
love of language that’s constantly evident in the way she uses words and, in Life after Life, in her characters’ love
of poetry (after sex, for example, Ursula quotes Donne, prompting her
paramour’s puzzlement; he has a more prosaic perception of the act and prompts
a meditation by Ursula on a certain four-letter word). Once Ursula manages to reach adulthood and
once the birth story mostly goes away, Life
after Life is well-paced, and I kept wondering how the next version of the
story would allow her to survive her adventures (or not). However, it took me forever to get into this book.
I kept picking it up and putting it down, largely because it gets kind
of repetitive, especially at the beginning.
Yes, okay, Ursula was born in a snowstorm—we get it.
But perhaps the most compelling them in Life After Life has less to do with accidents of individual stories
and individual choices than with the accidents that propel history. At one point late in the novel, middle-aged
Ursula says to her history-professor nephew, “But if Hitler had been killed,
before he became Chancellor, it would have stopped all this conflict between
the Arabs and the Israelis, wouldn’t it?”
The possibility of a world without Hitler is one Ursula pursues—we see
her pursuing it the novel’s opening chapter, in fact—but she only has the
opportunity to pursue it, and only knows she should pursue it, because she has lived the war years multiple
times. In the same conversation, she
quotes her friend Klara, who in one version of Ursula’s life tells her “Hindsight’s
a wonderful thing… If we all had it
there would be no history to write about.”
Ursula has a lot of hindsight… or is it foresight? In any case, Life After Life provides a compelling glimpse into how history
affects individual lives and a compelling meditation on how individuals might
affect history.
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